


and they were quARANTINED

by kalypsichor



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Some texting, idiots being idiots, ringo's unhealthy emoji addiction, we love to see it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsichor/pseuds/kalypsichor
Summary: George takes a shit. Ringo braves a trip to the tescos and loses a bit of his soul. John harasses the general public and Paul’s just trying to get them home before they kill each other. All while a virus tears the world apart.
Relationships: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 6
Kudos: 36





	and they were quARANTINED

**Author's Note:**

> thought i'd post this here! originally from my tumblr

Unfortunately, George doesn’t realize that they’re out of toilet paper until _after_ he’s taken a shit.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Ringo?”

No answer.

“Ringooooooooo. RINGO!!!”

George’s legs are starting to lose feeling. He bounces them up and down a bit and the motion almost makes him drop his phone in the toilet. 

“RICHARD FUCKING STARKEY!”

There’s the sound of footsteps and then a pause before Ringo answers.

“What’s up?”

“What took you so long?”

“Had my headphones in. Sorry I couldn’t be at your beck and call, O Lord of the Loo.”

“SHUT up. Look, do we have any more loo roll?”

A pause. “Why, are we out?”

George rolls his eyes so hard he sees stars. “No, I’m askin’ for the banter.”

“I’ll go check. Don’t move!”

George can almost see the shit-eating (heh) grin on his mate’s face as he walks away. With a sigh and some choice curse words that would make Louise cry, George pulls out his phone again. Opens Twitter. Sees yet another tweet from that spray-tanned clown across the pond. Closes Twitter and contemplates deleting it. After about three rounds of this, Ringo comes back and knocks on the door.

“We’re all out. Got you some tissues, though.”

_ Krishna help me _ . George tips his head back against the wall and thumps it a few times for good measure. 

“Thanks,” he says flatly. “Could you- ?”

The door opens just a smidge before he can finish talking there’s a flying blur of Kleenex box, a blinding pain in the side of his head, and a sickening crACK—

***

“I’m _really_ sorry,” Ringo says for the millionth time, hovering over George as he examines the spiderweb of cracks on his phone screen. George huffs. He wants to be mad, he really does, but Ringo’s face is doing that stupid thing where his eyes are very, very blue and droopy and his teeth are worrying his bottom lip and it’s obvious that he’s genuinely remorseful and—fuck, he’s got it bad.

“It’s fine,” George insists, even though he can hear his bank account having a fit. “Piece of shite phone, anyway. And look, it still works!” _Very shittily_ , his brain adds, _but that’s what you get with a five-year-old phone_.

The older boy’s eyes still have an unconvinced, sad look about them and George wishes he could kiss it away. No homo, though. 

“How can I make it up to you?” George’s brain does a slutdrop into the gutter. “I’ll… I’ll get the groceries! How ‘bout that?”

“NO!” Scrambling off the couch, George just barely misses smacking noses with Ringo. “What about the… the virus?”

“I’ll wear a mask and all. Wash hands for twenty seconds, stay six feet away from people… am I missing anything?”

“Yeah, the _quarantine_ bit.”

Ringo snorts and puts a hand on George’s arm. “Quit your worrying, Geo. I’ll be fine. Haven’t John and Paul been out all day?”

***

John and Paul want to go the fuck home. They’d walked all the way to a new art gallery opening only to find out it was cancelled (“Why didn’t you check Google?” “Why didn’t _you_?”). And now, both being tired as hell from their long trek, they couldn’t even flag down a single cab to take them home.

“This is the worst thing ever,” John cries, flopping his entire body down on a park bench. Paul rolls his eyes and lifts up John’s stupidly long legs so he can sit down as well. 

“People are dying, John.”

“I feel like _I’m_ dying.”

“John.”

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m being dramatic. But this stupid… thing… is fucking up all our plans!”

“It’s not fucking Voldemort, you can say the name.”

“Alright, fine. Coronavirus. CORONAVIRUS. You happy, Paul?”

A woman hurrying by shoots them a wide-eyed, nervous look and crosses the street, tugging a little boy by the hand. 

“... bitch.”

“Jesus, John.” Paul pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’d do that too if some rando was shouting in the streets.”

“Yeah, but she didn’t hafta shoot that nasty look at us… did you see that? Paul?”

“Hold on, hold on.” His phone is vibrating in his pocket and he fumbles to pull it out. “Your stupid legs are in the way.”

John huffs and makes a show of wiggling said legs, almost kicking Paul in the face. Still, he tucks them to his chest ( _flexible_ , Paul thinks and then instantly regrets) so that Paul can take out the buzzing rectangle.

\---

**bongo: do u or john want anything? 🤔🤔**

**bongo: like groceries**

**bongo: going to tescos**

Shouldnt you be quarantining?

**bongo: ur literally at an art museum 😂**

It’s a gallery

And it got cancelled :/

**bongo: oop sorry m8 thats tough**

**bongo: srsly tho whaddaya want**

We need more vegetables. Carrots, etc

\---

“Tell him to get cornflakes,” John says, peering over Paul’s shoulder. He’s sat up and practically draped over Paul’s lap. Paul sighs and shoves his legs off, ignoring the indignant squawk the other boy makes when he almost falls off the bench.

\---

Also that cornflake cereal stuff

**bongo: k**

**bongo: tell john i said hi**

Heyyyyyy rich wots up

Paulie’s being a bitch he pushed me :((((

Why is his auto caps on lsdnfol

\--

“Give it back!”

“Ow! Ow stop hitting me Jesus _fuckin_ -”

\--

Sorry that was john

**bongo: yeah i could tell lmao**

**bongo: where are u guys??**

Stuck at some park. Can’t get any cabs home

**bongo: well duh coronavirus 😷😷😷**

**bongo: bad time to be a cabbie man 😔**

Yeah yikes

Pick up some rice for george too

And hand sanitizer

**bongo: ill try but twitter says handsan itizer is going fast**

**bongo: what the fuc why did it space like that**

Lol

**bongo: oh also**

**bongo: geos being a mother hen and making me wear a face mask**

**bongo: u know where they are?**

Second drawer down in the bathroom, behind the rubber gloves

**bongo: … how did u reply SO fast**

Uh i know where things are in our flat? Like a normal person?

**bongo: thats sus but ok**

**bongo: wow theyre actually here**

**bongo: okay imma head out before it gets dark**

What’s after dark? Zombies?

**bongo: u never no**

**bongo: *no**

**bongo: FUCKING *KNOW**

Nice

Okay stay safe ritch

**bongo:** 😘🙃👍🏼✌🏼✌🏼🌈🌟🥦🥦🥦☮️

***

Ringo has never seen this many people at Tesco in his entire life. Two grown men are having a full-on argument in the pastries. A harried-looking dad almost knocks Ringo into a rack of Twinkies, pulling along two screaming kids with one slung on his hip. And… is that person actually wearing a Hazmat suit??

“This is insane,” Ringo mutters to himself, slightly muffled due to the face mask. He just needs to find the loo roll and then he’s going to yeet outta here ASAP. 

Okay, hygiene aisle… here we g—what the—

The entire aisle is _empty_.

It’s like a goddamn Old Western. Just add a cow skull… cue the tumbleweed… and it would be perfect. 

Not for the first time that day, Ringo sends a prayer to whoever is listening above. There’s got to be something left. He walks down to the end of the aisle. Walks back. Jumps a couple times to check if there’s anything on the top shelf. Sincerely hopes no one just saw him do that. Finally, shoved at the very back behind a couple of Always boxes, Ringo digs out a dusty as shit six-pack of toilet paper. 

Well. It’ll have to do.

As he’s walking to the check out lines, a woman drops her bottle of hand sanitizer. It rolls across the floor in a perfect arc and Ringo scoops it up before it can get too far.

“Oops, you dropped this!” He says cheerily, handing it to her. Well, _trying_ to. The woman makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, physically _flinches_ away from his outstretched hand, and almost drops the rest of her groceries. Before Ringo can react, she’s disappeared behind the produce aisle. 

Ringo’s arm falls to his side. He stares at the space where she was just a second ago and holds in a scream. 

“More for us, I guess.”

***

By the time Ringo reaches the flat, he’s ready to never see another person again. He trudges right past George in the kitchen, dropping the groceries on the table with a _thwack_. John hums a greeting to him in the living room and offers him a biscuit. 

“No thanks,” Ringo says. He faceplants into the couch. 

Something _clinks_ onto the coffee table. Well, coffee table is one way to put it; it’s more of a hunk of stone from back when Paul thought he was going to be the next Michelangelo and get _really_ into classical sculpture. It now sits in the living room and primarily holds George’s textbooks, plus takeout for whenever they don’t feel like cooking (which is all the time), so you can see how that panned out for Paul.

“Tea for you,” George says. He plops onto the floor between the couch and the table and runs a friendly, comforting hand through Ringo’s hair. Ringo practically _purrs_ , leaning into the touch, and George feels his heart melt and trickle through his ribs. “You okay?”

“I’ve lost all faith in humanity,” Ringo mumbles into the cushion. John reaches over and pats him on the back. 

“Don’t worry, Ringo. There won’t be any humans to have faith in soon.”

George throws a packet of sugar at John who dodges it, snickering. Ringo groans and tries to sink even deeper into the couch. 

And that’s when they hear Paul scream.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> really wanna keep writing this but my motivation is lower than my self-esteem


End file.
